Vowed Silence
by funky pink high top
Summary: After everything's been shattered in pieces and rebuilt, Lizzie finds comfort in one silent source. {EPILOGUE}
1. Does

A/N: V. IMPORTANT WARNING: Contains religious themes. Not necessarily my views. If you are likely to be upset by such subjects, do not read. Flames for that subject will not be tolerated. For anything else, of course, it's cool.  
  
Here's the dealio: this is a multi-chaptered songfic to Shakira's "Underneath Your Clothes." There are five planned chapters.  
  
Of course, I do not own Lizzie McGuire or Shakira. Groove on, children.  
  
~  
  
Somewhere in between my descent into Christianity and the purchase of my prom dress I started noticing people that weren't me. Sandwiched in between Jesus and pink taffeta was a reality slap, and boy, did I feel it.  
  
"Well, what did you expect?," Kate had asked, shuffling through dresses on the rack with me, matching silver crosses around our necks. "As Christians, we have to learn how to be more giving. That's why we're volunteering at the soup kitchen Saturday, by the way. I have it in my Palm Pilot." She tapped her purse, said Palm Pilot and a pack of Virginia Slims rattling inside it.  
  
"It's just like, an epiphany, you know? For once in my life, I feel like - "  
  
"Shit!," She cried, sucking on her manicured finger. "Where the hell did that pin come from?" She looked at me sheepishly. "Sorry, sweetie. What were you saying?"  
  
"Nothing," I sighed, looking at the dresses again. Nothing was appealing to me anymore. "Never mind. Wasn't important."  
  
"This would be really cute on you," Kate said, holding my future homecoming dress up to my body. I bit my lip and played with my cross. I didn't feel like shopping. I didn't feel like going to homecoming.  
  
"Sure," I said half-heartedly. "It's cute." Since Kate and I became Christians, I had fallen more and more into a disinterest in clothes. Kate, however, seemed to be even more intent on them. Actually, she was more... everything. God made Kate happier. I just felt sullener.  
  
And so now here I sit at the kitchen counter, one day later, doodling on my English notes and chewing pretzels, softly and slowly, the slow feeling of worry hanging over me.  
  
Matt walks in and we don't acknowledge each other. Lanny follows and I am suddenly horribly on guard. I only breathe quietly, trying to match his silence.  
  
You're a song  
  
Written by  
  
The hands of God  
  
Don't get me wrong  
  
This might sound  
  
To you a bit odd  
  
"What? No missionary act this time?" Matt rolls his eyes. The deeper his voice gets the deeper his thoughts go. Something about Matt changed with high school. Maturity? Honesty? Drugs?  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say carefully, staring into the words I've written. Lanny's silence is baring a hole in me.  
  
"Be careful, Lanny," Matt pulls two bottles out of the refrigerator. "She might try to convert you." I put my pretzel down and dare to look up at Lanny with soft eyes. He just looks at me plainly. I'm not a complicated soul to be read. There's nothing beneath my surface he can dig for. I'm suddenly totally and completely empty.  
  
I don't understand what Lanny says like he doesn't understand that I'm trying so hard.  
  
"Catch you later, sis," Matt salutes and makes a mockery of the word "sis" so that as he leaves the room with Lanny's body trailing behind him, I can left with the silence and the pain of knowing that I'm a sham. I clutch the little silver cross and close my eyes.  
  
"Hi, honey," Mom greets me as she walks in with a bag of groceries. She puts it down and tosses her keys on the counter. "Kate called earlier. How did shopping for your dress go?"  
  
"It was okay," I reply, working up a smile. "I found a dress. It's in the bag in the hall, if you want to see it."  
  
"I'll look at it later," She smiles and starts putting away vegetables. "What are you working on?"  
  
"Just studying," I close my notebook and stand up. "I think I'm going to my room, okay?"  
  
"Okay, sweetie." I have learned to avoid conversations with my parents. Short, polite, and respectful. No questions.  
  
I pass Matt's room on the way to mine and I listen vaguely to Matt's one-sided conversation. It doesn't hold my interest and I throw myself into my bedroom. Everything remains the same when I've changed so much. My bed feels too small.  
  
Why is it that God is never supposed to leave me, yet I feel so alone all the time now?  
  
The phone rings.  
  
"Jesus freak, it's for you!," Matt calls, and I pick up with receiver.  
  
"Hey, Liz," Kate says. "I was wondering... do you think I should go with Ethan to homecoming? Because, you know, we go way back, but I really think we've grown apart and I don't really know what he's up to and I feel bad..." I hear a quiet 'Oh, please' distantly and someone hangs up. Matt. "Do you think I should?"  
  
"Um," I bite my lip. "I guess. I mean, Ethan's still really nice. Are you thinking of someone else?"  
  
"Well, no..." It sounds like a yes.  
  
"No...?"  
  
"Well, kind of," Kate sounds hesitant. I feel impatient.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I can't tell you..."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I need to... research a bit," Kate said briskly. "Look, I'll call you back later, okay? Claire's beeping in." She paused. "She's such a popularity monger. Don't worry. I'll get her off my case. Bye." I listen to the dial tone for a minute.  
  
I listen as Matt and Lanny leave the house. Good, leave the house. Leave me here. Leave me here so that I may wallow in self-pity and confess it all on Sunday. There is nothing I would rather do. 


	2. God

Kate leans against the brick wall the way she can't lean on anyone, fully and trustingly. Kate tells me how she can only trust God and me now, and I appreciate it though I know she does not fully trust me. Or God.  
  
She pulls out a cigarette and lights it and looks at me expectantly. I just look away, because Kate's stare over a lighted cigarette is like looking into the sun. Friend turned enemy.  
  
"I don't know what to do," She says. "There's nothing playing. That's all that happens around here. A whole lot of fucking nothing." She takes out her cigarette and replaces it with her silver cross, fiddling with it in between her lips. Her soft pink tongue pushes it out and it falls back to its rightful place, leading eyes to where they do not need to be lead. She seems impatient, jittery. She motions too quickly. She doesn't want to be friends anymore. I was a mistake.  
  
"Maybe we should just... go home," I suggest, desperate to leave the public eye. Men's gazes paw, strip. Two little Christian blondes. It's an adult film waiting to happen.  
  
"But what would we do there?" She says reasonably. "A whole lot of fucking nothing."  
  
"But..." But I don't want to be here. But I want to just sit alone with you. You and God. But the shoes you told me I HAVE to have are killing my feet.  
  
But I don't say any of that because I'm afraid to.  
  
Kate stomps out her cigarette. "Maybe you're right." Suddenly, I am brilliant. She moves to leave, but the inevitable happens and Miranda walks by. Hill ridge gets smaller and smaller, it seems, just when you want it to stretch across the ocean. Just when you want to avoid someone.  
  
"Oh, look," Kate says in the tone that kills, forgetting all about leaving. "It's Sanchez. Where's your little girlfriend, Miranda? Or is it a boy? I can never tell, really, with your friends."  
  
"Do the words 'back' and 'off' mean anything to you?" She doesn't look at me. I am invisible. I am pond scum. I am a rock. An incredibly small one.  
  
"Well, excuse me," Kate smirks. "It's too bad Satan got your soul. We pray for your redemption every day... NOT."  
  
"Oh, I am so insulted," Miranda rolls her eyes. I notice her boots as I look to the ground. They must be two sizes too big. They must be biker's boots. They must be able to kick ass. I shudder at the flames she has obviously painted on herself. Maybe Miranda really has been caught by the Devil. I picture her on her knees, head to toe in black lace, praying for a new pair of boots or a date to homecoming or the death of me.  
  
"Why don't you just... scurry along home then?" Kate fell gracefully. "No one wants to look at THAT for too long." Before she leaves, Miranda looks at me like I'm a wall. A crumbling, weak wall.  
  
"Honestly," Kate says innocently. "I don't understand how they let people like that walk the streets. She's just begging for an exorcism." But I'm not listening anymore and she knows it. I'm thinking of someone else.  
  
But you're the place  
  
Where all my thoughts  
  
Go hiding  
  
Right under your clothes  
  
Is where I'll find them  
  
"Let's go, Lizzie," Kate commands/suggests/asks. "We'll find SOMETHING to do. Jesus sparks creativity, after all." This causes a fifteen minute speech on using the power of Jesus in our daily lives. I take it in slowly, letting it trickle down my forehead like Holy Water. Kate shows a wisdom that can only be bought for $59.95 on the home shopping network.  
  
"I'm supporting good Christians by buying this," She told me, holding The Holy Bible with Footnotes Explaining Every Last Freaking Detail.  
  
She silences after a few moments, letting me take in sweet droplets of quiet. It's so precious, silence lately. People speak and it's useless. I don't need their problems. Just their presence.  
  
We arrive at her house, vases silhouetted like graves. Her parents are not home; if they were, we would hear the sounds of sin. Kate has told me how much effort she puts into converting them. But then I come back and hear it. Lost souls.  
  
Kate's room is a shell of her former self, posters of teenybopper Gods and obscenely pink paint. The only change is the large cross on the wall, to fill in a blank.  
  
She throws her purse on her bed and collapses on the floor, a mere servant to Louis Vuitton. She looks in the mirror as I sit down next to her, pouting her lips and brushing hair out of her face. She smiles at me in the mirror strangely, like she has just noticed me. Her head falls on my shoulder.  
  
"Oh, Lizzie," She squeezes my arm. "I love you."  
  
"Um," I say confusedly, "I love you too, Kate." She touches my hair gently, like it's her pet.  
  
"Let's shave your head," She giggles, "I mean, what do you need all this hair for if you're going to wear it up like that?"  
  
"I wear it down sometimes," I say, suddenly uncomfortable.  
  
"You'd look really good," Kate whispers in my ear. She laughs. "Reallllllllllly good. Like a cake."  
  
"Kate," I stare at her, scooting away. "Did you take... DRUGS?"  
  
"What? No. What?" She's confused, pushing hair out of her face, sitting up straight. She's hurt. "Jesus doesn't like drugs." She laughs and falls backwards. "And we're ALL about Jesus." She sighs. "Don't you ever just get SICK of it, Liz?" When am I not sick of it?  
  
"Yeah, I-I guess," I stutter. She smiles, turns over on her stomach, her eyes lit. I've never seen her this way. It's frightening and intriguing. I didn't realize until now how often those two go together.  
  
"Then let me shave your head," She says giddily, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, nuzzling my elbow. She becomes fascinated by it, observing its structure carefully, like a work of art in a museum.  
  
"A-Are you SURE you didn't take anything?" I imagine the men again, how close they seemed to get. Maybe they slipped something in her Diet Coke for a good joke. Maybe it is a sign. Maybe God is telling us something.  
  
"For GOD'S sake, Lizzie McGuire," She chuckles. "Your name is so funny. Anyway, you've been with me like... ALL DAY. Did you SEE me take anything?"  
  
"No, but...," I struggle. "I've only been with you an hour now." She looks at me with wide eyes that look like they are going to suck in the world.  
  
"No, you HAVEN'T," She says angrily. "You've been with me ALL DAY." She slams her fist down on the floor. "Are you going to let me shave your head or NOT?"  
  
"Kate, you're sweating like crazy," I'm worried. I touch her hair, pushing it away from her face. She grabs my arm and squeezes it, tears rushing to her eyes.  
  
"No, I'm NOT," She insists, voice full of tears, but her big cow eyes squeeze together as she collapses into my chest and I know she knows she is. She looks up at me, tears glistening around her eyes like diamonds. She is so beautiful, it seems, when she is her saddest.  
  
"Lizzie," She says fearfully. "Am I going insane?"  
  
"Stay here," I tell her, and rush to the bathroom. I grab a towel and rinse it, but I really don't know what to do. I come back and she's staring at her arm.  
  
"Look at my arm, Lizzie," She says softly, like we are on safari, hunting her arm. "It's so big. And... lumpy." I look at her tiny, smooth limb. Tiny bumps have formed. Gently, I run the towel over her face. She giggles softly. "I feel like a baby animal. Like a... beaver or something." This is too hilarious for her. She thrashes her arms about, pulling herself up.  
  
"Why don't we go downstairs," I suggest slowly, rising. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"  
  
"No, no," She waves her hand. "I just -" She froze. "D-Did... you just see that?" She points at a picture on the wall of us. "It... MOVED. And – look, it did it again! STOP IT! Tell it to stop, Lizzie!" She was like a child, sitting on the floor, whining.  
  
"I-I'm calling my mom," I tell her finally. I panic, reach for the phone. I know now that I haven't changed at all. Here, when I didn't even recognize myself in the mirror anymore. Me, Lizzie McGuire.  
  
"No!" She dives for me, but she stumbles, knocks into the bed. "Since when is that there? Just..." She grabs the receiver, hangs up. "Just STOP. I'll be fine. GOD!" She pauses, putting her fingers to my lips. I stop my objections and listen, but there is nothing. "Do you HEAR that?" She walks to the wall, stares at it. I forget calling my mother momentarily. All I want is to hear the sound, know Kate isn't crazy. She leans into it, never closing her eyes. "Do you hear the... colors?"  
  
"Kate," I say as calmly as possible. "Wh-What... are you talking about?"  
  
"What's going... on?" She backs away from the wall. "Lizzie, I'm scared. I'm SCARED, Lizzie!"  
  
"K-Kate, I can't..." There is something dancing inside me. I don't hear the colors. I don't hear anything. I try to think what my mother would do. "W-What did you take?"  
  
"Nothing! I'm scared!" She falls into my arms and covers her ears. "Make them STOP, Lizzie!"  
  
"Kate, I can't... What did you take?" I stay firm to my mission. She doesn't answer, just covers her ears again. "I'm calling my mom."  
  
"NO, LIZZIE," She momentarily forgets her problems. "Just... leave me alone. But don't." I reach for the phone. "No! Leave me alone then. Just leave."  
  
"I'm not leaving..."  
  
"Just..." She stops and tries to sit on her bed, but falls. She tries again, but misses completely. She stares at it, like a bull she is trying to ride. Eventually, she sits. She wipes her brow in silence.  
  
"What did you take?" I say it forcefully, trying to take control. I cross my arms.  
  
"I..." She mumbles into her hair, but says nothing. She creates a language under her breath, staring at spilt ends. "My hairs are dancing. Watch them dance." She looks up at me. "My skin feels..." She blinks and looks away. "Like... funny. I think I need to wash. Wash, wash, wash. Funny word." But she doesn't laugh like she did before.  
  
"Maybe you should take a shower," I suggest, relieved for the chance to be away from this Kate. I help her up, but she resists me, rushing into the bathroom like she can handle it herself. Her hip hits for doorway, and she almost falls, and she doesn't know how large the doorway is, but she can handle it. The door closes and I hear the water. The investigation proceeds.  
  
It's funny that when I was eight years old, playing in this room, searching for a stray Barbie or maybe my right shoe, I never expected that nine years later, I'd be searching for drugs.  
  
I start in her drawers, where she used to keep her candy stash. The sickening feeling that crawls in my stomach doesn't settle. It doesn't hit that I've just witnessed the most disturbing image of my life. I picture needles, little tablets. I try to recall Health class, but they never did anything too graphic. I picture ecstasy where the candy necklaces used to be, heroin needles instead of Push Pops. I want to vomit, but the bathroom is occupied by my drugged up best friend. When did I ever think things would be easier, being friends with Kate?  
  
I give up on the drawers and start under the bed. Later in life, she kept her tampons under here, the kind her mother disapproved of. Kate was never very original with her hiding places. I find a box. I debate whether or not to open it, but give in. I need to help Kate. I need to cleanse her from her sins.  
  
As I open the box, I realize that is the first time I've thought about God in the last twenty minutes.  
  
First I see a picture of me and Miranda when we were twelve, bent slightly but carefully smoothed again. It's filled with pictures – me and Kate, Kate and Miranda, Kate's mom. I lift one up and my heart jolts. I find a sheet of what look like stickers or tear off stamps. Odd cartoon pictures, almost cryptic. Camels, monsters, mermaids. I don't touch them. One has been ripped off.  
  
I dump out the rest of the box. The rest is pictures, except for a small baggie with a single pill in it. I look closer. It has a butterfly on it.  
  
I cradle the pill slightly, marveling at it. I hate it at once, the way it taints Kate. My Kate. But it is oddly beautiful as well. I see Death in it; I see Jesus. I hear stumbling in the bathroom. The water stops. I throw it out the window and shove the box back under the bed. I touched drugs. Is that a sin?  
  
I know I must help heal Kate. I know I just put God back into her, forgive her. But I'm only one person. I put my head in my hands. Is this really what God wants me to be?  
  
I don't want to see Kate again. I don't want to leave her. But I am option less.  
  
I bolt out the door before she can say a word. 


	3. Want

When I get home, drained beyond belief, praying every five steps, the most unexpected person is standing in my living room. Well, no, actually, the most surprising person would be Jesus. Ironically.

"Oh, hi, Lizzie," Larry says enthusiastically, giving a short hand gesture which I guess means hello.

"W-What are YOU doing here?" I say, wrinkling my forehead, pointing. My communication with Larry Tudgeman since high school is limited. Pity waves in the hall, small talk before class. Beyond his shirt, he is the only person who truly hasn't changed.

"Oh, I lent Matt one of my _Star Trek: Enterprise_ books," He explains eagerly. "I have the entire series, plus all The Lost Era. I have so many, I should start a library." He laughs and I give a small chuckle, not because it's funny but because it's Tudgeman, in my living room, talking about Star Trek. "So, um, how are you? Do you have a date to homecoming yet?"

"Yes," I say hurriedly in case he was asking me to go.

"Oh," He replies, sounding slightly disappointed. "Cool. I'm keeping my options open, you know. There are just so many ladies after me, it's hard to choose the right one." He laughs again but this time I don't. "Who are you going with?"

"Here's the book, Larry," Matt enters the room and hands Larry the book, ignoring my presence completely. "Thanks."

"Oh, no problem. Always willing to help a fellow Trekkie." He nods at me. "Nice to see you again, Lizzie. Bye, Matt." He does the hand gesture again and leaves quickly.

Matt looks at me and I look at him, wordless. For some reason, I want to talk to him about Kate. Let him insult me. Slap me on the face. Beat my dead body.

But he does none of this, just shakes his head and mutters something as he leaves. I watch after him and freeze as I see Lanny, poised on the stairs. He looks at Matt and then looks at me. We share a gaze and he keeps still but I move forward, leaning against the wall. Matt pushes past him, urges him on as he treads up the stairs, but Lanny is still staring at me, critiquing me. Then he breaks it, turns around, and follows Matt. Somehow, I expect him to walk backwards, keep looking at me. But he only glances back once, when I fall to the floor, suddenly too weak to stand. No one rushes to catch me, just leave me to melt into the polished wood.

As I lie on the floor, I contemplate the ceiling and Lanny and God and tattoos. I wonder if it's fair, that Kate gets to be happy, even if she swears and takes drugs and most of her compromises involve taking boys behind a dumpster. That I cannot get the one thing I want. I hate myself for wondering, for lying to Larry, for loving Lanny and for not speaking to Matt. I hate myself for coveting, for holding everything in, for letting someone else take over. I hate myself for hating.

Underneath your clothes  
There's an endless story  
There's the man I chose  
There's my territory  
and of all the things  
I deserve  
For being such  
A good girl honey

Matt and Lanny drift down the stairs before I can get off the floor. They don't look at me. Good. No one should look at me.

Am I invisible?

They head out the front door and close it. I stand up, compose myself. I feel ill. I touch my forehead, but there is no heat. I think I have a case of chronic, fatal, excessive Stupid.

Matt walks back in Lanny-less, closing the door and giving me a withering look.

"It's good to see you can at least act normal when we have guests over," He says shortly before going up the stairs again.

"Wait, Matt," I say, surprising even myself. He stops and turns, waiting. I can't think of anything. He shakes his head and turns his back to me again. "Whatever." I follow him, stupidly, stumbling. When he gets to his room he slams the door in my face. I open it.

"What do you WANT?" He has tossed himself on his bed, book in hand. I almost start the list, but I know he doesn't want to hear it. I sympathize with that. I don't want to hear it either.

"What did you need that Star Wars book for anyway?" I ask.

"Star Trek."

"Whatever," I shrug. "What did you need it for?"

"Why do you care?"

"Well, when Larry Tudgeman shows up in my house all of a sudden, I get a little curious."

"Lanny and I were comparing it to Hemingway," He replies emotionlessly. I blink. I cannot tell if he is being sarcastic. "I saw you lie to him, by the way." He says this disinterestedly, reading his book.

"N-No I didn't," I say, trying to appear appalled. It's been centuries since I was this upfront with Matt.

"Yes, you did," He sighs. "I know you don't have a date to homecoming. No one wants to date a Bible-humping psycho."

"Is there a reason you hate me being Christian so much?" I snap finally. It's a question that haunts me, one meant to go unanswered.

"Because," He says angrily, "Ever since you have, all you do is go around with Kate and pretend you care about everyone else and avoid having fun because it's a sin or something. You mope around and depress Mom and talk about God like he's some guy who's going to come walking into our kitchen. I liked it better when you were a shallow idiot." I lose my upfront ness again. I pout. I walk away. "Face it – if there is a God, he doesn't like you enough to bless you with brains."

It amuses me as I walk away that he's the one with the angry words and points and true concerns and Action Figures, but I'm the unhappy one. My amusement makes me cry.

I expect myself to collapse on my bed, staring at the ceiling or a stuffed animal or my hand but instead I exit the house, letting my dead body carry me where it thinks right.

"Lizzie!" Claire's voice wakes me up slightly, just so that I can ask myself, 'What the heck am I doing here?' "What are you doing here? Come in!" She's thrilled. My heart has suddenly faded into my stomach. It drifts there, a deserted island with nothing to keep it still.

I sit on her couch and look around, but take in nothing. A painting here, a vase there. Everything seems coated in yellow when I speak to Claire, a veil of hot wax, lemon drops. Sunlight. Corn. When I speak to Claire, I feel as though we've switch bodies; I'm her, looking at me in that begging way. And she's me, begging her to stop. When I speak to Claire, I want to slap her.

"Claire," I turn to her as she sits down. I feel my face fill with confusion and importance. "What happened?" She stares at me blankly; back straight, hands on her delicate knees. She doesn't want to insult me; I might run away, slip through her fingers. I remember choosing my words carefully with her, worried I might bruise her with my choice of nouns, verbs. She might run away; she might tell everyone.

"Oh my GOD, Lizzie McGuire is such a freak," She said in my mind. Now we had switched roles, bodies, lives.

"What... do you mean?" She laughs slightly; maybe it's a big joke she doesn't get. I recognize the sweater she's wearing from seventh grade; the good old days. It's big on her, I realize, she has shrunken. Still, she wears it proudly, like a memory. Like denial.

"I mean," I open my hands to her, like I'm giving her something. "How is it that I'm here, coming to visit you, and you and Kate aren't friends, and people look at me and copy what I'm wearing or doing or saying? How is it that when you open the door and I'm standing there, you don't... shut it in my face or... roll your eyes or yell at me? Why do you try so hard? Why am I popular and you're not?"

"I... don't know," She says uncertainly, looking at me strangely. She still thinks this is a test. What does she expect? Congrats, Claire, you've won the prize! Here's my love and affection!

"Why, Claire?" I am almost hurt, offended by her oblivion. Doesn't she understand me? Isn't she me? "Why do you try so hard to be Kate's friend again, when she treated you like crap?" I soften myself; I am butter, yellow to coat our speech. I try so hard to understand her, and I see it, like a distant horizon, how I half-hoped against hope that, when Kate became popular, she would turn around again and re-befriend me, that she'd wake up from that horrible dream. She wasn't dead; she was merely an enfant, born again in Holy Water.

But it never happened. Kate never woke up, just dreamed on, entangled in a spider web no one could save her from. I watch her struggle in the twine, limbs flying, impatient with her puppet strings. But she can't break free. Or maybe she chooses not to.

"I..." She struggles with an answer, debates honesty.

"Tell me the truth, Claire," I squint at her, trying to search her. "What do you want?"

"I guess I just... want friends again," She shrugs, her eyes distrusting. She acts as though she doesn't care. Her voice is almost a monotone, a shield. They can't hurt you behind your simple words, ironic mouth. "I miss the way things... were." Her shield crumbles slightly. "I mean, junior high can't be the happiest time of my life, right? It can't just be downhill from here." I don't tell her anything, but I see it. Prom Queens and quarterbacks, the way people look at me in the hallway. Is this the end? Had it ended for Claire already? Am I wasting the best time of my life just pretending to be happy?

I think about the nerds, Larry, how they will make something of themselves. How they have just begun, that high school hell was a mere fluke in the plan. How years later they will be successful and rich and wonder, what happened? And how they will think that they missed out on something. Pep rallies, being admired by the little people. It's funny to think how I won't miss it at all. I've seen their eyes, ones I once had, that pry, trying to find a mistake or a point of interest or just something other than me. They demand, they tug on my sleeve like children. It's so stressful, after all, being admired. At first I had thought I was a role model; that I was teaching the ways of Christ just by being friends with Kate. We had fun, we talked, and it was as though nothing had changed.

But then it did change. I realized I was teaching nothing; I was a performer with no audience. They wore their crosses and said their prayers, confessed false sins and acted peachy keen. Kate distanced, hazed; she was distracted in a way that slipped under the radar. She was a caricature of a caricature of herself. She was a funhouse mirror.

"Lizzie?" It's Claire who pulls me back into reality again.

"I... had better go," I stand, and she stands, ashamed.

"Are you sure? I could get you something to drink? Would you like something to eat? What can I do for you?" She pleads with me through her eyes.

"Just... don't bother, okay? It's not worth it." She doesn't understand, and neither do I, come to think of it, but I turn away and I'm out the door.

"Come back anytime," She calls after me, and I want to vomit. My stomach can't handle cradling my heart.

The next day I call Kate, though I have no idea what to say.

"Hello?" It's Kate's mother. There's laughter in the background, and she laughs with them. "Oh, stop, Jeffery. Hello there?"

"H-Hello, Mrs. Sanders," I recover from my amazement. "Um, is Kate there?"

"Is that Lizzie? Oh, darling, it's so good to hear from you! Kate will never tell us news of you, always... rattling on about some cathedral or another, occasionally a movie she's seen or how we are horrible sinners or something... how are you?"

"I'm... fine, thanks," I pause. "How are you?"

"Just fantastic, dear, just got back from a business trip." She laughs again. "Oh, Jeffery, you're terrible! You'll have to excuse me, Lizzie; we have a few friends over."

"Oh, it's okay. Is Kate there?"

"Oh, Kate? Good question... honey, where's Kate gone to now?" I hear muffled voices, debating over her location. "Oh, that's right. She went out with that boy again. It's always you or him, really, but I have no idea what is going on with Katie these days. Always too busy or we're too busy or... what have you." There is more laughter. "Oh, dear, I must go, though it was very nice talking to you, dear." She leaves me, stunned, receiver in hand. I guess neither of us know what's going on with Katie these days.


	4. Us

"I really don't understand the color scheme," Kate flips through a magazine, shows me pictures, raises her eyebrows. I am near silent. "I mean, tangerine, navy blue, and magenta? How does THAT work?"

"Kate, who were you with yesterday?" I question finally, hugging my knees to my body. I realize I'm holding my breath, anticipating her response.

"Ethan," She replies, not missing a beat. "He gave me a ride to the mall."

"Do you hang out with him a lot now?"

"I guess," She shrugs, licking her finger and turning the page.

"But, I thought you said you were drifting."

"Lizzie," She sighs, drained. "I'm really not in the mood for the third degree, okay? Just... sit there and look pretty. You're good at that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I can't believe it. This... from KATE SANDERS.

"What? Nothing," She tosses aside the magazine. "It's not supposed to mean anything." She leans back, looks at her ceiling, and sighs. "God, I'm bored."

"Why don't you do drugs then?" I say bitterly, quietly.

"Don't do this, Lizzie," She groans, falling backwards. "Just... be cool. It's no big deal."

"Kate, Jesus doesn't –"

"Don't," She says dangerously. "Do not pull that card." She sits up. "Christ, Lizzie, we're not all saints like you."

"I'm not," I laugh, "A saint. At all." Lanny, coveting. Hating. Lying to Larry. Not fully believing.

"Oh yeah? Why not?" She challenges me, giving me a Look. "You're just too good, Liz. I can't keep up anymore. It's not easy."

"It's not supposed to be easy," I soften, begging her to try. "That's the point. You have to work for Heaven."

"You don't know what it's like," She looks away from me. "Being best friends with you. Everyone fucking LOVES you. No one loves me, the two-faced whore."

"Jesus loves you," I touch her arm and she pulls away.

"Yeah," She says cynically, "Like that'll make me Homecoming Queen." She sends chills down my spine, and I don't know why.

"It's not easy to be your friend either, you know," It's my turn to turn away, cross my arms. "I always have to pick up the pieces. Like the other day..."

"Do you have to...?" She struggles, trying to wrap her head around the words. "I don't know... REMEMBER that? It's really not that big of a deal. I was trying it." She looks at me. "It would be weird to see you on acid. You'd spaz." She laughs and I laugh with her, though I don't think it's funny at all.

"Yeah, well, you'll never see that," I smirk at the thought.

"What about... ecstasy?" Her voice is full of thought.

"Kate!" I look at her as though she's insane. "No way."

"Come on, Lizzie," Her eyes grip excitement. "I have one pill."

"But I... threw it out the window..."

"I got it out the bushes." The thought of Kate digging through the bushes for her lost drugs makes me sick. "We can split it. It won't hurt or anything."

"Who are you?" I ask, bewildered, because the Kate I'm friends with would never do this. Or maybe she would, and I just don't know.

"Lizzie," She pleads with me, but I don't give in and she sighs. "Fine. I knew it. You're just too good." What does she mean, 'too good'? Can something be too good?

I picture what it would be like, having things be too good, but instead of images blooming everything dissolves. Aspects disappear, and nothing is left. My too good is a blank canvas.

I don't want to give in to peer pressure, but I hate this 'too good' business. I have so many questions, but I don't particularly want the answers.

"This is such a bad idea," I sigh, holding out my hand. Kate asks no questions either, just splits apart the butterfly.

Forty three minutes later, I know exactly what my too good is. Kate's hand is so soft as we sit in the garden she bought for me, $25 dollars from her cousin Amy.

"How long does this last?" I laugh at her as she makes faces, tracing the lines of my palm. The colors are so vivid now. Kate's walls are no longer pink, but pink! They jump out, demand my attention. They are beautiful. I can't hate them. They ARE me.

"Depends," She says in a strange voice that reminds me of trumpets. "A few hours." She stares at my ear intently. It feels like a seashell, washed up in Technicolor foam. How could this be bad? How could I have almost refused this?

"I like forever better," I giggle into her neck, because Kate is so funny. Her hair is like a bunny, but so much better, because she can talk. I always liked those talking animal movies. I wish Kate had a dog, so we could hear what he had to say.

And I realize now that Jesus totally wants us to take drugs. I see his face in the walls, and he talks to me, tells me stories about what he's seen.

"Lizzie," Jesus says, "You're not too good. You are just right." And he is so right. I laugh but when I turn to Kate, she laughs too, and I know she's been listening in. I stop talking to Jesus because she's so nosy. And I tell her so, pushing her nose like a button. She makes another face and I laugh so hard. Kate's so funny.

"Can I shave your head NOW?" She asks, playing with a lock.

"No! Silly girl," I roll off the bed. "That's stupid." I spin in a circle, but I get dizzy and have to stop. I make friends with the dresser by crashing into it.

"Jesus wants you to, Lizzie," Kate laughs with her big cow eyes, climbing towards me on her hands and knees. She's breathless. I forget that we have to breathe, here in my too good. "You need to LISTEN, as you ALWAYS do." She grabs my leg.

"Nuh-uh," I shake her off. "Not true. Not always." She starts to look like a watercolor portrait. I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster, trying to focus on one tree or person or kiosk on the ground, but it's no use because everything is rushing by.

"I love you, Lizzie McGuire," She hugs my knees, kissing them. "Will you have my baby?" I shake her off again, fall into the wall. I didn't realize that Kate was the only reason I wasn't falling.

"No," I breathe, walking with the wall, "Kate Sanders. Kuh-ate."

"Why not?" She whines on the floor, like a four year old. I remember how she used to do the same with her mother. I collapse on the floor next to her and lean close.

"Do you know," I say to her forehead, "That I love Lanny, Matt's friend?"

"No..." She covers her mouth as she giggles, eyes wide. I giggle with her, because she so right, it is funny. "I thought he was like... gay with Matt!" And we giggle some more.

"No, but that would be funny," And I laugh more, because oh my gosh, it is. Everything's so very funny. I make a drum beat on her thighs. "Sing me a song, Kate."

"Oh, Lizzie," She half-sings, half-laughs. "You are so pretty.... It's rhymes! Lizzie, pretty..." She falls into my lap. "Oops. No it doesn't."

"Yes, it does," I say, but really I just want to argue, resting my head on hers.

"Can I shave your head now?" She asks, muffled.

"Fine," I push her head away from me and then pull it back, using her shoulders to stand up. She pulls my hand to stand up and I almost fall. "Kuh-ate."

We stumble into her bathroom and giggle, life is so funny, don't you think? I am in awe of her teal tile, like the ocean. Like the ocean if it were a chess set. She fumbles around, looking for things, and I sit on the toilet, looking at the beautiful ocean chess set. Why is it so beautiful? I try to remember what it looked like before, but there is no before anymore.

"I've always wanted to do this," She tells me, putting shaving cream in her hand. It comes out like ice cream, or a wave, or a cloud, and I want to eat it. I try to, but Kate pushes me away, laughing. "No, silly, it's for your head." She pushes all my hair on top of my skull and massages, and it is so much better than tasting. She feels like a spider on top of my head, trying to swallow me whole. She has a thousand fingers, she must.

"Sculpt me, Kuh-ate," I say deeply, putting my fingers together like I'm meditating.

"You should totally ask Lanny to the dance," She says, doing little swirls in my hair. "Liz-E. E-Liz. Like a rapper." I open my mouth to say something, but the spider distracts me. It's so lovely, grand, though I've never used those words before seriously.

She picks up her pretty pink razor and it reminds me of so many pretty things, like butterflies and pocket knives and Tylenol. She slowly pulls her hand back and suddenly everything is twice as beautiful; I feel air in my skull and it's like she's scratching an itch I've had for eternity. Shaving cream covered locks fall in my palms.

"It's snowing!" I exclaim, stroking the locks. They are so soft, with their lifeless foam. I feel like I've been locked in a box for years, and Kate has found the key. And I love, love, love her for it.

I close my eyes and let her jabber on, snipping and shaving, and I laugh, thinking about what a good joke this is. What will everyone say? They'll be amazed at how beautiful I am, laugh about how I fooled them all. Maybe some will be mad. Oh, well, they don't matter.

"This is nice," I tell her, touching her arm. "You're nice." The tile is too beautiful to resist. I fall onto it, trying to taste the saltiness. Blood races down my ear, to my cheek. What a stellar red. I touch it with my fingertip, rubbing it so it blooms on my palm.

"Lizzie," Kate whines, laughs, "Get up." She pulls me up by my arm, up above the sea. She doesn't understand. I'm a mermaid, washed up on shore. I don't belong here.

Because of you  
I forgot the  
Smart ways to rhyme  
Because of you  
I'm running out of  
Reasons to cry

As my hair disintegrates like time through an hour glass, the rollercoaster starts again, the mirror and sink blurring together. Kate looks like five Kates, surrounding me like a gate. I don't know why, but I think about Monopoly as she puts down the razor. She uses a towel and rubs my head, and I laugh, because it feels so good. Like a jellyfish, engulfing my head into its stingers.

"Beautiful," Kate kisses my head and leads me to the mirror. I stumble slightly, and wonder, is the mirror foggy? I don't recognize myself, a puddle of eyes. The earth keeps spinning so laugh with her. Good joke, good joke. "Oh my God, Lizzie, you're so going to be Homecoming Queen now." We laugh again.

"No, you are, Katie Kate," I put my arms around her neck, "Because YOU are FABULOUS." I nestle my head onto her shoulder. "What a funny, funny word."

"You're a funny, funny word," She says, and we're off again. Life really is so, so funny.

"Hi, Mattie," I greet my brother at my door. He stares at me blankly, like he cannot believe my beauty. "I know, it's wonderful. Let me in."

"What the hell happened to you?" He asks me, but I see Lanny over his shoulder and push past, grabbing his shirt. I have never seen him in such vivid color, such wonder. The blue plaid yells at me its message, criss-crossing, changing lanes. It's says, 'Lizzie, this is Lanny, so introspective and deep, he wants to marry you' and I believe them because it IS his shirt.

"Lanny," I taste his name like cuisine (another funny word.) "Your shirt is so..." I laugh, tilt my head. "Cosmic." He doesn't say anything, of course, he's Lanny, he needs no words. I open my mouth to ask him to the dance but Matt grabs my wrist and pulls me away.

"Are you drunk?" I laugh in his face. Such a good, good joke, why isn't he laughing? "What did you do to your hair? I thought Jesus wanted you to have an eighty dollar haircut, after all."

"Matt," I squeeze him close to me. "Matt, Matt, Matt. Naïve Matt. Don't you understand? I'm beautiful. I'm fricking BEAUTIFUL."

"God, Mom'll kill you if she sees you," And with that, he starts to pull me upstairs. I resist, because, after all, my date is downstairs. Why would I go to my room, where there is no one but me? "Come ON, Lizzie, I'm saving your ass here."

"You're such a spoilsport, Matt McGuire," I yell, but I let him pull me upstairs, because I know he doesn't realize how wonderful everything is. When we get to my room, he sits me on my bed.

"What did you do?" He questions, exasperated, looking for something.

"Ecstacy," I swing my legs like a little girl sitting on a bench, waiting for the bus. He stops and looks at me, as though he doesn't believe me.

"You... took X?" He shakes his head, starts searching again. "How holy of you. Hope you don't go to hell for that one." He finds what he's looking for, the key to my bedroom, and turns to me. "Now, you have to stay here – "

"Who's Lanny taking to the dance?" I ask, still swinging my legs.

"We're going together," He replies.

"As USUAL," I sigh, falling backwards. "Why don't you take like... Melina?"

"She turned into a bitch, remember?" He sounds annoyed, but I don't care, because I'm so frustrated with this. "All she does is hang out with that junior, Andie, and pierces other girls' navels because, oh my god, it's like, so cool."

"But she still calls here," I don't want to talk about this anymore. The ceiling fan has become far too fascinating, with it's meaning of life theory.

"Yeah, and I hang up on her," He doesn't want to talk about it either. "Just... stay here, okay?"

"Do you like, have an aversion for blondes or something?" I find this very funny, and crack up. "You can't stand me, or Melina, or Kate..."

"Maybe I just have an aversion to people who pretend to be something they aren't," He replies, so cold I need a sweater, which I crack up at as well. "Besides, you're not a blonde anymore."

"Everybody pretends SOMETIMES," I fold my lip down and pretend to be a beaver, which I am good at. "Don't YOU?"

"Yeah," He says quietly, harshly, shrugging. "But not anymore."

"Should I ask Lanny to the dance?" I ask him, and I don't know why, because it's Matt, he doesn't care, he doesn't see me.

"Something tells me he'd say no," She leans in my doorway. "Stay here." He closes the door and I hear it lock, but I don't care, because it's so, so frustrating. I kick my table and a lamp falls over; it isn't enough but I stop because I am filled with genius. I pick up my phone and dial Gordo's number, anticipating. Phones are so funny because they're like boxes that talk and when I'm thinking about this, I can't hear Gordo say, 'Hello?'

"Hello?" He asks again. His voice has gotten so deep, I think, though I can't really tell if it's him or me.

"Hi, Gordo," I greet him. "Want to go to the dance with me?"

"L-Lizzie?" He's confused, he's going to call the Police. "What?"

"Do you want to go to the dance with me?" He makes me impatient. Why is he so stupid? Why does he not get it?"

"Um... no," He replies. "Why would I ever go to the dance with you, my ex-best friend, who up until... this exact moment, has ignored me since tenth grade?"

"Um. Because you don't have a date or.... Something..." This isn't going the way I planned. "Silly. Duh."

"I have a date, actually," He says coolly, and I want to laugh at him.

"Who? MIRANDA?" I snort, because it's ridiculous. Miranda hangs out with Parker and Cody and sometimes even Angel Lieberman, when she has to, when Gordo hangs out with... no one.

"No, Kate," He says, and I laugh, because Gordo's sarcasm has never really been amusing to me until now.

"Seriously," I say, watching the posters on my walls stare at me.

"I am serious," He says, and the world comes crashing down.


	5. Happy?

And so it was Kate. Because of Kate, I show up to my homecoming in my pink princess dress with a shaved head. Because of Kate, I flush the gaudy pink cross that matches said pink princess dress down the toilet before I arrive. Because of Kate, I scream and cry and sob in my mother's arms before collapsing there, smashed. And, because of Kate, I attend the dance.

Because I'm not Kate at all. I'm Lizzie McGuire, former blonde, daughter of God (just maybe less so), imperfect and too good. Lizzie, who cried for Christ and bought a journal with puppies on it afterwards. Lizzie McGuire, me, who makes mistakes sometimes. Just me.

I drive by myself to the dance, slowly, like I could crash into a tree if I go over twenty and then I'd die and miss this dance that I'm completely anticipating. Matt and Lanny decided to walk, taking one look at my swollen eyes and melting lip gloss and refusing my offer.

I watched Matt get ready earlier, picking out his hideous blue cowboy shirt, frayed at the cuffs. He treated me almost softer, letting me lean in his doorway and see his skinny chest.

"I can't believe you're still going," He had said, almost laughing in disbelief. I shrugged, wiped my eyes.

"Well, you know, why not?" I replied in the shaky tone I had adopted that afternoon. "It's not like they aren't going to see me Monday." He nodded, buttoning his skirt and looking in the mirror. I saw him try to hide the fact he was really looking at himself, judging. He flipped up the collar and looked at me.

"What do you think, little lady?" He stood in what I imagined was supposed to be a cowboy stance. "Giddy up?"

"Sure," I chuckled. He proceeded to do-si-do around the room with an imaginary partner, making me laugh. I reflect now that that was the first time in years Matt actually made me laugh. On purpose.

I almost wish they had come with me now, so I could build a wall with their pity. Then I wouldn't have to pity myself.

The cheesy pop station blares as I inch along, each verse punctuated by an impatient honk. Every time another car appears, I pretend to be a normal citizen, speed up. It scares me to death, to go faster than I can go on foot. Don't they understand? I'm still tender from this; the slightest touch and I could dry up and break into a thousand pieces.

As the Spice Girls come on, I am still ten minutes from school and there is so much space in my head, so naturally, I think of name tags. I remember when Kate and I hosted a car wash to raise money for Yearbook Club. She wrote her name tag in neat swirls, drew a smile. I drew a star, and she added under it, "Kate is the best!" I laughed and wore it, because look, Kate is on my name tag. Suddenly, the thought sickens me.

The lyrics suddenly pop in my mind, and I remember singing along to them with Miranda, Gordo rolling his eyes, sometimes blabbering on about the grammatical correctness or sexism of the song. I try to sing along, but suddenly the words aren't there. I thought I had them, but really, they left a long time ago. Now all I can see is Gordo, shaking his head at my name tag. Miranda appears too, disgusted.

"Why don't you just get a dog collar?" She says to me, and I look at her, hurt.

"I never meant for us to drift apart," I cry, but she doesn't listen.

"Well, good for fucking you," She says angrily, but Gordo puts his hand on her shoulder, stops her.

"I'm really disappointed in you, Lizzie," He says in the Gordo way only he can. I squeeze my eyes shut. A tear falls and they disappear. I realize I'm still driving when a car honks. I don't speed up and they pass me, giving me the finger as they do. I don't think I've ever given anyone the finger.

I finally arrive at school, turn off the engine and stare. The goodness of this idea deteriorates, and all I can feel is this sickness in my stomach. I see myself going home, eating ice cream with Mom, ignoring her disappointment. This is no heroic gesture, this is going to a stupid dance. I can buy a wig over the weekend, maybe take a day off from school. I can say I dyed my hair, cut it. I can hide it until it grows back to a reasonable length. I don't have to tell the truth.

But this is what I do, isn't it? Honest to a fault, romantic and optimistic. Sensitive and compassionate. I've gotten so confused, I'm following a road map of my former self. I lean my head on the steering wheel. Is knowing what you would do a debatable topic with yourself?

I get out of the car and walk into the gym, looking only in at my feet.

Everything is blank and numb, except for pinpoints of whispers. I hear slight laughter, but they don't realize that's it's not a joke. Mostly, I hear their stares. I find a nice corner to stand in.

I almost look for Kate, but I don't want to see her with her date. I picture her smiling at Gordo, her long golden tresses tumbling faultlessly down her delicate back. I see my dateless bald self, fuming. I realize now how incredibly unfair life is.

Kate, with her drugs and endless amounts of boyfriends, takes it all, using everything possible to shove her way to the top. She pretends and lies and cheats and screws you over, but she gets there. I see the way I believed, prayed and helped, spoke only the truth. And what happened? She shaved my head.

She builds a shaking anger in me, threatening to tumble any second. I think how she takes things away from me, how she crumbled everything, left, came back, and crumbled everything again. She's the kind of mistake that tears you; she's the last laugh you'll never have. She writes her name on my name tag and I laugh. She cries and I sob.

But I love her. As the anger tumbles, all that's left is the horrible reality that is that fact. When Kate leaves, I miss her. When she's with me, I'm happy. In the most basic sense, she's holding my hand the entire time. She's showing me the garden over and over again.

It's everything around us that screws us over.

I want to tell this all to Kate, to take her to the side and tell her how our friendship has to end just because I need it to keep going, but I see her and can't. She's dancing with Gordo, the height difference a secret to no one. She sees me and waves, smiles. Like everything's okay. Like nothing happened. This is the constant in Kate's life. Pretending everything's fine. The salty sweet denial collects on tongue as my eyes water.

"Hardcore, McGuire." I know it's Parker with no hesitation. Who could mistake that voice? "I didn't know you had it in you." It takes me a moment to realize she's talking about my head.

"Well, uh, it wasn't exactly planned." My voice is filled with more sorrow than I intend, trying and failing to sound mysterious and "hardcore."

"What, did Kate tell you to?" Miranda sneers by her side, glancing back to where they came from. I know she's looking at Cody, wanting to be with him.

"No," I say with an edge in my voice, though it's a total lie. "I'm not like, her minion or anything."

"Could've fooled me," She replies, and Parker nudges her.

"I'm sorry we drifted apart," I say lifelessly.

"Um, wow, Kodak moment," She looks at me strangely. "Let's go, Park."

"I mean it," I say with more conviction. "I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm not," She says shortly, and turns away.

"Ouch, harsh," Parker shrugs sympathetically. "I guess that's what happens when you eat meat." She follows in Miranda's wake, towards Ethan, who I realize now is her date.

Could things possibly get stranger?

Of course, the evitable happens, and it does as everyone's head turns towards the other entrance, where someone else is coming in. I lean against the wall, the limelight shifted. Thank God. I instinctively reach for my cross necklace, but it's not there anymore. I suddenly feel utterly naked.

"A cancer victim and a fag in the same family," Someone turns to me and sighs. "Sucks, dude." I stare at him, trying to process what the hell he's trying to say. He doesn't say anymore, just turns and gets more punch.

I suddenly need to see what all the commotion is about. I stand on my toes, trying to look over the crowd. I see Matt and Lanny, some football player. I stand on a chair nearby. Matt and Lanny are holding hands.

It hits me now, in slow waves in thousands, how everything connects. I know now why babies die and parents divorce and killers kill. I understand why Kate shaves my head and I lick her boots. I recognize how you cheat on your wife, how you steal from the poor, how you slit your wrists. Because life is nothing but un-fucking-fair. I fall off the chair in the perfect Lizzie McGuire moment.

It would have been a choice time to flip off God, I realize now as I run out the door, fling myself on the curb, tear the taffeta into neat lines. I think about how my brother is probably being beaten now, and how nice it was this afternoon, as he do-si-do'd across the room and I thought he was straight. I almost laugh, wondering how I possibly could have with him wearing that shirt.

I don't think about how Kate knew, and I didn't.

I also don't think about how my brother has probably kissed the guy I'm in love with.

I also don't think about how my skull is freezing.

"God... damnit!" I yell it out, as loud as I can, hoping someone would hear me.

"Is that Lizzie McGuire?" They would whisper, listening for more. "But she's like, a huge Jesus freak." That's right. But I don't believe in God anymore. Hear that, God?

This is pretty sad.

"Lizzie?" I turn around and see Larry Tudgeman, like my night could get any better.

"Not now, Larry," I say as gently as possible, leaning into my hands. "I'm not in the best of moods."

"I just came to tell you that they're announcing Homecoming King and Queen soon," He says awkwardly, standing over me. "And, you know, you're nominated and all..."

"Yeah," I say bitterly, raising my eyebrows. "Like I'll really win."

"Sure you will. I mean, I voted for you."

"Thanks, but," I tear the taffeta more, "Coming to the dance bald and then running out when you find out your brother is gay isn't exactly what you call a good campaign."

"You mean you didn't know?"

"I guess I'm the only one."

"You know, I like your hair," He says suddenly. "It's kind of Queen Amidala... if she shaved her head."

"I didn't have a date, Larry," I confess.

"I know." We stand there in silence for a minute, the only sound the ripping of my skirt. The keys jingle in his pocket, and he whistles, but I tune him out. "Well, I'm going back in... are you coming?"

"I guess," I say, letting him help me up. We walk together, and I wish desperately I could just fall in love with Larry, let him court me through senior year. I wish I had never fallen in love with silence.

When we enter the room again, everyone is dancing again. I don't see Matt or Lanny, but I keep my eyes on the entrance they came through, waiting for them to appear again.

"Hey, I'll be right back, okay?" I tell Larry, heading towards Kate. All I see is the back of her head, her incredible hair. I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do.

"Kate," I announce my presence, and she turns away from her date, smiling at me.

"Hey, Lizzie," She says slightly nervously. "Wild haircut. I guess it's a big hit."

"We can't be friends anymore," I inform her. "Bye."

"Wait," She grabs my arm. "What are you talking about?"

"I just realized that you just confuse me. And I just... listen to you."

"You're not making sense," She says, trying to stare me into sense. We're silent, her staring at me and me looking at the floor. "I'm sorry." She says it quietly, like she understands. I know she doesn't, beyond the fact I'm never going to make sense.

"Bye, Kate," I almost wave, but just end up throwing my hand up and letting it fall. I look back at her, her lips pouting slightly, such a sad little girl. And guess what? She's beautiful.

"Okay, gang," Mr. Dig gets on stage, permanent teacher at Hillridge High. "It's time to announce your Homecoming King and Queen." Everyone cheers as I reach Larry's side again. "Okay, okay, keep your pants on." He opens his envelope, looks at it, looks at us all. I see Kate primping slightly, smiling at Gordo. He shakes his head.

"And your Homecoming King is... Cody Pearson!" Everyone looks at each other quizzically, as Miranda and Parker laugh hysterically. I know now that they've screwed around with the poll somehow. I smile, though it isn't funny.

Cody makes his way to the stage where Claire puts the crown on his head, having volunteered for this position. He ignores the microphone and walks directly off stage, bright red. A few people clap, but mostly everyone's just confused.

"Well, that was unexpected," Larry says, but I can't think of anyway to respond, so I don't.

"And your Homecoming Queen is..." Please don't say me, I think. Please don't say me. "Lizzie McGuire!" There's applause, and Larry pushes me to the stage, but I can't move. Don't give me a stage. "Come on up, Lizzie." I reluctantly trudge up the stairs, looking out at everyone. They seem to be trying to make their faces blank. Or maybe I am.

Claire places the tiara on my head, and I wince as it pierces my skull. This was obviously not designed for a bald girl.

"Lizzie," She whispers in my ear, like she really wants to say something that means something. She hesitates, breathes, and just says, "Congratulations."

I approach the microphone with apprehension. I should give a motivating speech. Tell everyone what I told Claire, tell them what I really think. Tell them how I'm depressed now, but in a couple weeks I'll be back to normal and pick up where everything left off, before everything screwed up. Tell them that they need to remain hopeful.

I start to say these things, but suddenly everything goes black. There has been a power outage. People scream, laugh, call each other's names.

"Make out party!" Some guy calls out. I hear Miranda's laugh over it all, somehow.

"Everyone calm down!" Mr. Dig yells over it all. "We'll get some lights in here." But no one's paying attention; I hear a mad rush to the door. I take a step and suddenly I'm off the stage, on the ground. My skull pulses in pain as sweating bodies shuffle around me. The air conditioner isn't on either.

Somehow I manage to stand up and now I'm in an ocean of bodies, being pushed out the door. People shout to move, shove. It's not long before I can look up and see stars. They crave blood.

A car radio is going all the way, the bass shaking my skeleton. Somewhere in the shuffle my tiara has fallen off.

"Hey, Lizzie," Larry pushes towards me. "Isn't this great?" I think for a minute, looking around. People push themselves against their dates, the music rowdy hip hop. The cool air is relieving against my sweaty neck. No one is looking at me.

"Yeah," I smile slightly. "I guess it is."

"Want to dance?" He offers me his hand, and I take it. Larry really can't dance, especially to this music, so we try an awkward waltz. I can't help but laugh, our offbeat steps becoming more offbeat as we try to get on beat.

"Thanks, Larry," I say to him.

"You're welcome," He replies, trying to twirl me. Instead, I stumble into Miranda, who raises her eyebrow at me.

"Larry Tudgeman, huh?" She looks at me. "Not exactly your typical boyfriend, Lizzie McGuire."

"He's not my boyfriend," I blush.

"Not yet," Larry says, "But once a girl gets a taste of the Tudge, it's hard going back to anything less than gourmet."

"Right," I laugh. "Sure."

"Switch partners?" Miranda offers. "You never got a dance with your Homecoming King, after all." She switches places with me, and I know this is the first time in a long time Miranda has actually been civil to me. Cody blushes, backing off slightly.

"So," He says softly, and I realize I really don't know his voice, "What made you decide to take the plunge?"

"Current events," I reply without a beat, and I'm not exactly sure why I said that.

"You've got to take care of her, Larry," Miranda moves closer to me and Cody, "Get her to be cool again. This shaved head is a start, but I know she needs you to bring her back to the real life."

"Yes, sir," Larry replies, making another weird hand gesture. I might need a picture dictionary.

I wish I could tell you I know everything will be okay now. That I will really stop loving Kate, that I won't come home to a bruised Matt. That I'll forget about Lanny entirely. That I'll make friends with a lot of people, and not depend solely on Miranda or Kate. That I'll balance time between others and myself. That I'll never forget who I am again.

But if I did, I'd be lying.

And Lizzie McGuire just doesn't do that.

_When the friends are gone_

_When the party's over_

_We'll still belong_

_To each other. _


	6. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Senior year rests on my tongue like a stone. I try so hard to tell it like it is, to remember every moment for its own worth, but it rests, everything stringing together like a massive spider web. There's so much to tell, but so little to say.

I made up with Kate a week later over twin Caesar salads, me, quietly listening, her, babbling on and watching the door. Nothing was the same after that. While she skipped first period study hall with Gordo, drinking black coffee and smoking pot (which tainted my image of Gordo forever), I braved Anatomy with Miranda, passing her notes about how much I don't understand. She was still my harshest critic, but she didn't say anything negative when I sat at her lunch table. I never really knew where I stood with her, with her eye rolls and her encouraging smiles. She was cautious with her friendship, prepared to pull it away at a moment's notice.

Parker found me adorable, told me how she never knew anyone who could be so naïve and so awesome at the same time. I took it as a compliment. She liked to take me on long drives in her energy-efficient car, asking me bizarre questions that were either philosophy or just stupid. But, as I learned soon enough, you have to give Parker the benefit of the doubt.

Larry and I, much to the disappointment of our friends, never dated. Even Kate was rooting for us, she told me over smoothies on a particularly sappy day towards the end of the year. I shrugged and smiled. What Larry and I stretched way beyond any describable relationship. We barely talked about our history together, but somehow it was always there, like the things I learned about him where things I had always known but never paid attention to. Talking to him was like digging through someone else's attic.

Sometimes, avoiding home was necessary. While we tried to be immediately accepting, Matt's coming out knocked everyone off their feet. Mom treated it like ignoring it might kill us. She over-discussed with me, trying to make it clear how it was perfectly normal and how I need to support him. She'd say these things and her face would blur, her sentences clumping together in my mind. A ball of twined acceptance nested in my head.

The most awkward was when Lanny came over to dinner. I spent most of the time trying not to dive headfirst into my spaghetti. Lanny sat across from me, next to Matt, and spent half the time watching me curiously, as I kept dropping everything that came into my hands.

The next afternoon I spent sobbing on Matt's bed after he confronted me about it. I confessed things in the vaguest way possible. He nodded silently, sadly, patting my shoulder awkwardly.

"Well," He had said, trying to cheer me up, "I guess this makes up for all the times I lusted after your boyfriends." This just caused me to sob harder, because I really never knew. Though we never got super close, after that, Matt and I developed a sort of understanding, a good decade wasted. We went to a movie once, but Out Matt was different from Closeted Matt. When he looked at the screen, I wondered if he was starting at the same actor I was. We went to grab a bite to eat and saw a few of his friends and I wondered how many of them were gay too. Maybe it wasn't exactly that Matt was different; it was me that was different. It was like breaking the surface after holding my breath for days. I had to shift my perception about something I never thought I would have to.

The year was loud and messy and morbid but beautiful and fun and free. I'm proud of it, this small creation of time lumped in between my fingers. Things drifted apart and tumbled together; nothing quite made enough sense for it to be boring. My timing was off; I should be hating myself for not patching things up sooner. But as I had learned, there was no real point in regretting.

It's funny, the way believe so often told me to be myself. Like they knew exactly what that was; like they were testing you. They asked me to not take risks because I'm Lizzie McGuire; they asked me to wear the color pink and like daisies. I always thought that someone WAS testing me, that they were watching me closely to make sure I wasn't stepping out of line. This is probably when I realized that no one else cared. Which is a good thing, sometimes.

And so as I slowly make my way through that short tread of life, I'll remember Kate. I'll remember my bald head (which is now grown to the middle of my forehead), the X, lying on my kitchen floor covered in flour. I'll remember late nights talking and beating her to the homecoming crown. I'll remember staring past lettuce and tomatoes onto a white plate and into Kate's soul, trying to fathom why she was jealous of me. And I'll smile. Because, really... who would ever think?


End file.
